The Gift
by ToTheBlueberry
Summary: After the encounter with DRJ, the Fringe team decides to enlist the help of the "gifted"- psychics, telepaths, Cortexiphan kids, etc.- in hopes of protecting them. So when Shawn Spencer, Cortexiphan trial member, comes across their radar they assume he'll be like all the others- crazy, uncooperative and deadly. But something's- different -about this one. (future angst)
1. An Episode about Episodes

**A/N: First crossover fic, yikes! Hopefully you guys like it;) I'm trying something kinda new by switching up the POVs, just to get a look into everyone's view of the situation. Let me know if you like it in the reviews.** **Tips/comments/suggestions/rants/complaints welcome (obvi)**

 **Almost forgot- this is NOT a deathfic- at ALL!** **Everything is not what it seems in the world of Wacky...**

 **If I was a tv producer, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be writing fanfictions. So yeah, these wonderful works of art are not mine. I wish they were though.**

 **Chapter 1: An Episode about Episodes**

 **~Shawn's POV~**

I shouldn't have been there. I knew I shouldn't, but I just couldn't help myself. Call it what you want - impulse, stupidity, fate- but I couldn't bear the fact that the Santa Barbara Police Department might actually solve a case without me; not if I could help it. So I found myself there, with Gus, in the parking lot of the SBPD. Kind of.

You see, Gus had kicked me out of the Blueberry after my "stinky food" had "distracted him from driving", to which I responded by "accidentally" tipping over Gus' pineapple smoothie, to which Gus responded with, "It's a company car, Shawn!".

What? Can you blame me? I get grumpy when I have a 20-some pound hammer tapping at every square inch of my face -eyes included- for over a week! Which leads me back to my first thought: I shouldn't have been there. If I had just stayed well enough away, maybe none of this would've happened. My life would still be relatively normal. Kind of. Probably not.

But that's not what happened. I guess I'll just have to deal with the consequences.

"Hey, Gus." I walked over tentatively, hoping that Gus had realized how overdramatic he was being. And this was coming from me. ME.

"Still not talkin' to you, Shawn." My best friend slammed his car door, making me wince as the hammer turned into a wrecking ball at the loud noise. He proceeded to cross his arms, looking just to my right, as if he actually believed he could succeed in ignoring me.

"Oh, come on, Gus! It happened, like, 10 minutes ago! Can we just drop it?" Why do I always have to be the mature one in these situations?

"Shawn, you ruined the driver's seat of my car, not to mention my pants, _not_ to mention a perfectly good pineapple smoothie!" Gus ended with a sniffle (yeah, real tear-jerker, that last one).

"Don't mention it." I half-heartedly teased. I now stood in front of him, with a full view of his mad face. Which quickly morphed into a concerned face. Yeah, Gus, the shouting really isn't making the wrecking ball any happier.

I could've sworn I was on a boat right then, with how badly I was swaying. _I just hope I don't swoon_ , I thought, _because_ that _would be embarrassing._

"I'm fine, Gus," I claimed, seeing my friend's worried expression. It sounded more like I was trying to reassure myself.

I wanted my hammer back. I held out a hand, looking for something- _anything-_ to hold myself up with. When my hand hit the Blueberry, I barely had time to brace myself against the door before my legs gave out. I collapsed on my knees as the boat was suddenly hit with a giant wave- no, _tsunami-_ and I suddenly felt seasick. Or, at least, what I thought seasickness would feel like. I hadn't really been on a boat with my dad long enough to test that, so I figured this was the closest I was gonna get..

My breath came in ragged gasps as I collapsed on the hard ground. I sounded kind of like Gus, when he got this really bad asthma attack back in 5th grade. Except for the fact that I don't have asthma. I think. Come to think of it, I really have no idea.

I heard someone shout something- a name?- yes, Shawn. Is that my name? For the first time in my life, I couldn't remember. Memories- my own, Gus', everyone's- flashed before my eyes, and I almost forgot who I was. I was everyone else, everything else, but nothing. Countless lives flashed before my eyes, and I could feel the years tick by with each passing second. I could see the lives of people I'd never even met, from their point of view. I could feel their happiness, disappoinent, surprise, sadness, anger- as if it were my own. And I could see how they were formed- a birthday party, a failed class, a funeral, a wedding, a stupid comment.

It was like a huge game. A huge, twisted, confusing, possibly-drug-induced game. Like Where's Waldo, but instead of Waldo, it was Shawn. Where am I? Who am I? Everything was all blended together, like someone had gotten hundreds of crayons and scribbled them all over everything.

Am I the guy standing next to a small blue car that looked like a blueberry? Or the man with thinning hair being scolded by a sternly blonde with even more thinning hair? Or am I the one writhing on his back in the middle of a parking lot next to said blueberry car?

My mind was fried. I couldn't think, much less decide who I was. Luckily, though, I didn't have to answer that- my vision soon condensed to a single point of view, which I assumed to be my own. Which, of course, was the only one that I didn't want to be me.

Jeez, this whole out-of-body experience thing is really tiring.

 **~Gus' POV~**

I was getting annoyed. Shawn was, of course, no help to me at all. He didn't even have an excuse this time- no cases to work on, no places to go, people to see. All the man could do was have a "vision", even if there was no one around to see it. He was faking a movie-status swoon just so he could see my concern. . . And he knows I'm a sympathetic crier!

"Shawn? Shawn! There's no one around, you don't have to fake a-" I stuttered to a stop as my friend rolled over on his back. His eyes were wide open, showing a feral sense of fear. The way he was breathing, I could've sworn he was having a terrible asthma attack. But Shawn didn't have asthma.

"Oh. My. God!" I got on my knees next to Shawn, trying to assure him that everything would be okay, that he would be fine. He started thrashing his head from side to side, groaning through his bared teeth. I finally turned around to shout in the direction of the police station for help.

 **~Lassie's POV~**

I heard a commotion outside. Shouting. I quickly turned to my partner, who was looking up in concentration, trying to listen for the sound again.

"Did you hear that, too?" Juliet sounded curious.

"What? No. All I can hear right now is the blessed silence of this building without the presence of Spencer." I sounded worried, though, even to myself. The SBPD, without Spencer and his tap-dancing sidekick? It was almost too good to be true.

"You can't hear silence, Carlton. Let's go check it out."

"Yeah, let's do that," I was going to make some snarky comment about Simon and Garfunkel, but I instead decided to listen to the nagging voice in the back of my mind. "You lead the way."

We walked outside to see Guster kneeling over something next to his bright blue Echo, blocking whatever it was from my view.

"Gus, what's wrong? And where's Shawn?" Juliet asked. I, too, was now curious, and slightly worried. I had rarely seen the two more than an arm's length away from each other.

Gus shuffled to the side, letting the two detectives see what he was hovering over. O'Hara and I then saw Shawn lying on his back near Guster's car, shaking and twitching uncontrollably.

"What happened?!" Juliet demanded, her usually cheerful demeanor replaced with a strong sense of urgency as the group made their way over to Shawn.

"We- We were just talking. I think he might have had a headache, but he wouldn't take any painkillers. . .something about it clouding his senses. We got here, then he collapsed. He started having trouble breathing, and this- this just..."

"He's having a seizure!" All my years on the job, countless hours of training, and still there was no way I- or anyone, for that matter- could prepare for this. The best of circumstances- we were right outside of a police station chock-full of trained professionals. The worst of circumstances- none of our officers had taken extensive medical training. Except for Woody, of course. But that was different. That was for dead people. I crouched down next to Spencer, joining O'Hara and Guster.

"What? Shawn's never had a seizure in his life!" Gus' voice produced a manly squeak at the end of his sentence.

Juliet positioned herself at right angles to the psychic, cushioning his head from the hard pavement with her lap. Just in time, too.

I watched in horror as the seizure started to gradually get worse. His eyes rolled back in his head, showing only white. His hands started scrabbling at the asphalt of the parking lot, bloodying up his fingertips. My partner then grabbed his forearms, trying to keep Spencer from hurting himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw O'Hara grab Spencer's right hand, holding on for dear life. The psychic squeezed back just as hard. I raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment. The psychic's other hand, the one not held by my partner, was clenched into a tight fist, his nails digging into his skin so deeply that droplets of blood began forming.

"Gus, how long would you say he's been like this?" Juliet had called the EMT's, dialing the number with her free hand. Apparently, it was of utter importance that they know when it had happened, not where or how. I growled in frustration.

"I don't know! Maybe a few minutes? 5 or 6, tops." Juliet relayed the information, hanging up after giving the EMT their location. Spencer started to turn a nice shade of blue, his ragged gasps quickly progressing into desperate gulps for air. The psychic's back arched, his breath (if you could call it that) hitching in his throat. The uneven rise and fall of his chest violently sped up, like he was hyperventilating; then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The man was silent, not a peep coming from his now-limp body. The seizures had finally stopped- along with his heart.

"O'Hara, since the EMT's are obviously taking their sweet time, we're gonna need to get him breathing again. Can you help me?" I already knew that O'Hara was CPR-certified: it was a mandatory requirement for officers out in the field.

"Yes." She stripped off her grey jacket, bundling it up under Shawn's head as she scooted her way opposite me, on the other side of Spencer. I started the compressions, surprised at how well-built the man was. Pushing the thought aside, I motioned for O'Hara to start the rescue breathing. She did, pinching Spencer's nose closed and breathing steadily into his mouth. Nothing happened.

 **~Juliet's POV~**

I kept up the routine long after my partner had given up: 2 minutes of compressions, then mouth to mouth, back and forth, back and forth. I held Shawn's hand even during compressions, making me a bit more clumsy and slow. I just knew that I couldn't let go. My wrists had started to hurt after the first five minutes, but I ignored it.

"O'Hara. . .Juliet?" Carlton's use of my first name brought me out of my repetitive process. I looked up at him to see him looking at me with a mixture of sympathy, grief, and concern, all emotions that I knew meant disaster. I heard sirens off in the distance, coming closer and closer by the minute. I ignored whatever my partner was saying- something about "doing my best", whatever that meant- and continued the process, up, down, in, out. I was just doing what I needed to do. I guess the shock of the whole situation kept me from thinking straight.

I hadn't even noticed when Shawn's hand had slipped out of my grip, and I grabbed it with my free hand again, almost dropping it at the touch. His skin was cold- too cold for Shawn's warm and energetic body. How long had it been? Only a few minutes, right? So why was he already so cold? It was mid-July in California! So was he?. . .no, he wasn't dead. This was the relentlessly stubborn Shawn Spencer, and he wouldn't just give up now! He would wake up, make some movie reference that only he and Gus would understand, annoy the living daylights out of Carlton, give me a reassuring hand-squeeze and one of his trademark smirks. His eyes would pop open and he would reveal this to all be some stupid trick about a recent case we took on. How dare he be so selfish and just stop trying- for me, Gus, his family, Carlton, the SBPD, even the churro vendor near his office? My grief suddenly turned to anger.

"Shawn! C'mon, you have to wake up. You- we have cases to solve, criminals to catch! You can't just give up on that... on us." It sounded kind of like a morbid version of my normal morning charade to get Shawn out of bed.

"Shawn, I swear, if you don't wake up right now, I will kill you!" By now I would have picked up a pillow and started playfully wacking him with it. I don't think that would have accomplished much in this situation, so instead I put as much force in my voice as I could, trying to break through to him.

"Shawn!" I screeched. I felt hands on my shoulders, pulling me back. I fought against them viciously, not caring when I backhanded what felt like a face. "Shawn!" I started smacking his chest to wake him up. I didn't care about anything else in that moment. I broke down, sobbing over Shawn's still form. I didn't care about the hot tears rolling down my cheeks, my eyes turning into miniature Niagra Falls. I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, that it wasn't nearly as bad as I knew it was. Then I remembered the stages of grief. Denial was the first.

I felt hands on my arms and shoulders, pulling me back, and I fought viciously before being hopelessly overwhelmed in a matter of seconds. I only heard snippets of rushed and panicked conversation:

"Ma'am, we need- "

"Calm down, sir! Let us help him- "

"-us do our job!"

My sluggish mind tried to process the information: these were the EMT's, and they were here to help Shawn. I stepped back, watching as they strapped him down into a stretcher and loaded him up into the ambulance. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw officers lined up around the scene, identifiable among the few civilians on a midday stroll. Chief Vick was there, lecturing a pale, terrified and slightly green EMT who stood there shaking and bobbing his head up and down, swallowing heavily every few seconds. My gaze travelled to Buzz, who had stepped up to help in any way he could. He was helping the EMT's load Shawn into the ambulance. I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"You should go with him." A voice said. It was Carlton, my partner. I turned to thank him, the words dying in my throat when I saw his face.

"Oh, Carlton. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-" Whoops. Guess I had smacked a face.

"Good Lord, Juliet! Did you even hear what I just said? Go after him! I'll meet you there." My partner sounded annoyed, but his use of my first name told me otherwise. He winced as his split lip formed the last words, and looked at me expectantly, shooing me off. I muttered one last apology before hopping onto the back of the ambulance, sitting next to Gus and watching Shawn's still form as the truck sped off. The doors were pulled shut behind us, and I lurched backwards into Gus as the ambulance sped out of the parking lot. I watched helplessly as the EMT's bustled around Shawn, hope wearing thin after several failed attempts to get him breathing again.


	2. Recruit

**A/N: Hehe... I love cliffies! Another one is in store ahead. ;]**

 **So hopefully this lives up to all the hype (if there even is any). I know you guys all probably thought I died or something because I haven't posted in forever but... here I am!**

 **And just what the heck is goin' on with Shawn? Kudos to you if you can guess before the third chapter is up!**

 **Twisted Quote of the Chapter: "Go ahead. Make my day(write a review?)."**

 **I don't know if it shows, but I haven't really seen Fringe (or Psych) in a while, so characters might be a little OOC. Don't worry, though, that just gives me an excuse to re-watch the series!**

 **Disclaimer: My name is not Steve Franks. Or J.J. Abrams. 'Nuff said.**

Olivia's POV~

"Hi, Olivia Dunham, FBI." I flipped up my badge as the receptionist looked up, confusion clouding her face. She sat forward in her chair, studying the badge to see if it was real.

"This is Peter and Walter Bishop: they're civilian consultants. We understand that you have a psychic consultant- Shawn Spencer- who assists with your investigations? We would like to speak to him, please."

"Sorry. He's not here right now." The receptionist shook her head vigorously, returning to the paperwork on her desk.

"Ma'am, we just need to talk to him. He's not in trouble or anything, we just need some infor-"

"And I said he's not here right now. Go break an arm or shove a Lego up your nose, then you can see him."

"Excuse me?" Peter started getting protective at her hostile tone.

The receptionist took a deep breath, then looked up from her work. "He's in the hospital. Don't know exactly what happened, but this morning was interesting, to say the least. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

Walter gave me a meaningful look. "It's too late. We're too late," he murmured. Peter decided to take control of the situation.

"Look, Ms.?"

"Alan. Officer Alan."

"Okay, Officer Alan, we don't want to waste anybody's time here. I'm sure you don't want the feds here, and frankly, we don't want to be here. So why don't we just help each other out, eh? What's the fastest way to the hospital from here?"

Peter's POV~

"Take a left here." Olivia read off the directions. She was thanked by a sudden sharp turn as we veered into the parking lot of the Santa Barbara Cottage. Probably not my best parking job, but who's keeping track?

We ran into the reception room. Upside of having a badge- you definitely get people's attention. Which is also, admittedly, the downside.

The nurse, upon being flashed 2 FBI badges, practically scurried off to find the room number. She came back a few seconds later.

"He's in operating room 104 right now-" We hurried to leave.

"-Wha- wait! You can't go in there! Doctors only."

"Ma'am, I think we qualify." I gestured to me and Olivia.

The nurse reluctantly let us go, pointing out where the room was.

We got to the elevator, and I slammed the call button. Repeatedly.

"So, we're doctors now?" Olivia whispered conspiratorially. I just smirked.

There was a resounding ding as the doors slid open and the room emptied. We filed in. Just as the doors were closing, a tired-looking man with salt and pepper hair and steel blue eyes stepped in. He was holding a tray of coffees- he looked like he needed them.

"What floor?" Jeez, he sounded like he needed them too.

"Second. Thanks." The man practically punched the button.

I was beginning to understand why Walter didn't want to come. Hospitals are depressing. And they smell like cheap antibacterial soap.

I looked up to notice the man staring at us strangely. I tried making conversation.

"So, what-"

"Why is the FBI here?"

"Um... how did you-?"

"Badge."

"Oh." Based on the imprint of a gun on his suit, I guessed he was with the police. Probably a detective. Which means he might know something about this Shawn Spencer. "We ran into a case that led us here."

"Well, I figured you weren't here for the excellent service." He said bitterly.

Might as well tell the truth. He didn't seem like a threat- just annoyed.

"We're looking for a 'psychic' detective. Shawn Spencer. You might have known him- he worked with the police department." Olivia spoke in her overly-professional voice.

"Spencer? What would you want with-? What did he do?"

Olivia chuckled. "Nothing. That we know of. We just wanted to know if he had any information on our case. He may be an asset."

The man looked like he wanted to say something, but apparently decided against it. Probably better to not make fun of someone on the brink of death.

The doors dinged open and we practically ran out of the overcharged atmosphere. It wasn't hard to find the room- practically half of the police force was milling around outside of it, along with who I assumed were friends and family.

Just as we arrived, a doctor walked out of the room. The others noticed too, and all attention was on him. Which made me feel even worse for the guy. All those people, most of them with loaded weapons within their reach as you give them very important information that could tremendously upset them? No, thank you.

"Doctor, we're with the FBI. What happened?"

"He's gone." It sounded like a question. "I'm sorry." A woman to my left let loose an unstifled sob. The man that we had met in the elevator stood behind her, folding her in his arms as she sobbed into his chest. The doctor solemnly walked over to the group to give his condolences.

"You should call Walter. Let him know what happened." Olivia whispered to me as we walked away from the scene.

"We don't even know what happened!" I exclaimed. She cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Sorry, it's just- we've tracked this guy for so long. He seemed like pretty much the only sane psychic we've found yet, not to mention he actually helps fight crime, and as soon as we find him, we're back to square one."

What a coincidence- the day we pinpoint his location, he drops dead.

She read my mind- literally or figuratively, I don't know. "If there's one thing that you and Walter have showed me over the years, it's that there are no coincidences. This was not a coincidence. It's Jones. You know that. He's just trying to get to us. If we knew why...", She trailed off.

We walked in silence for a bit after that. Finally an idea came to me.

"I hate to say this, and I really don't want a reason to be here any longer than necessary, but we should probably hang around to see the cause of death."

"I was thinking the same thing. We can get it cleared into FBI jurisdiction. I'll call Broyles."

With a lot of coaxing and promises of Red Vines, we got Walter into a car on its way to the hospital. A while later, we were making our way to the morgue. The hospital was happy to turn the case over to the feds- they had no idea what was going on. But since they didn't want the extra attention, they had us go later, during the graveyard shift. So we were there, on our way to take a dead body back to Manhattan. At night. In a basement. During the graveyard shift. Perfect.

Olivia walked in, flipping on the lights, which turned on with a buzz. I was behind her, and Walter was a way behind, rolling a gurney to move the body. We had Astrid stay behind to watch the lab.

The basement, a perfect place to store all of the creepy dead bodies. I had to suppress a shudder. Flourescent lights flooded the room, reflecting off the steel rows made to hold dead people. There was a bang, followed by a quieter tap. Olivia jumped in front of me, her hand going to the gun she probably had tucked in her pocket.

I put a hand on her elbow, guiding her away. "Hey- relax. It's an old hospital- that's probably just the sound of it getting settled." She nodded.

"Why don't you go help Walter? I'll find the body."

Walking by the rows of metal coffins, I found the one tagged "Shawn Spencer". As I was about to open it, the banging I had heard from earlier returned, full-force. It was accompanied by muffled sounds, like someone talking through a pillow. It stopped as soon as it started.

"Walter!" I called down the long hallway. They were too far away to have heard anything.

He turned. "Yes, Peter?"

"Are zombies real?" It was, sadly, a completely legitimate question. And the only explanation I had.

"Oh, that's just ridiculous, Peter. Of course not. Why would you ask?" He walked over, head slightly tilted in curiosity.

Then the banging started up again. The same metal square quivered under the force of whatever was behind it.

"That answer your question?"

"Oh, dear." Walter finally took notice of the quivering metal. Olivia hurried over.

"What's the holdup? We need to get this body to- oh."

"Yeah. Oh." I repeated.

The dull rattles stopped, and not a second later there was a series of booms as we all jumped back, too fascinated and surprised to do anything.

Finally Olivia took out her gun and flipped the safety off, then nodded to me to open the coffin. I was fully expecting a zombie to bite my head off, so I kind of crouched, shielding my head with my free hand. There was nothing- no ravenous snarling, no gnashing of teeth. I slowly straightened up to see...

A man. Shawn Spencer. Not a zombie. A bit blue in the face, but that was the only unusual thing. Besides the fact that he was supposed to be, you know, dead.

"What the-?"

"What a most peculiar thing. I need to examine the body." Walter went for a scalpel from his pocket. Some people have pens- he has a favorite scalpel.

"Woah woah woah, Walter." I took the scalpel from his hand, passing it over to Olivia. "This guy is still alive. See? His face is blue- " As I said this, the color in his face started to come back. I noticed the rise and fall of his chest, which was a little disturbing, to say the least.

"Oh, dear. Well this complicates things." He stood contemplating, then raised his head with a giant smile on his face.

"Well, we've finally got it! Our first live recruit." Walter's probably the greatest optimist I know.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself there, Walter." Olivia went to get the gurney.

Meanwhile... Shawn's POV~

I bolted upright.

"Gah!"

There was a loud bang as I- well, banged- my head on cold metal. I rubbed my forehead, banging my elbow on a wall. There was a resounding ding, and I felt my arm resonate with the force.

I stared up at the smudge I had created on the steel ceiling.

Wait. Steel? Ceiling? Last I remember, I was looking up into the Santa Barbara skies, right before-

What? Right before what? I don't even know what happened. I scanned my memory for clues, but still there was nothing. Just pain. Confusion. Then it all went dark, like someone had just flipped the switch and I was fumbling to turn it back on.

All I can remember is feelings, emotions. Confusion, worry, fear, pain, dread, desperation. Other bad stuff. Like feeling my world is ending and there is absolutely nothing I could do about it but watch. Helpless. Useless. I couldn't connect the dots.

Nothing that I could remember would help me figure out what happened.

Now I'm in a cold metal box with absolutely no way out.

There was a dull pounding in my ears, of blood rushing. The only other sound I could make out was my own heartbeat, racing as I started to panic. I'll admit, I started to hyperventilate. A little.

"Hey! Help! Someone!" I started shouting, hoping someone would hear me. What is going on?

I didn't like small spaces. Especially small, cold, dark spaces.

A disturbing thought crossed my mind, and I faltered. What if I had been kidnapped? What if the Robinson case had finally caught up with me, and the killer was trying to set an example by killing me? What if this was some cheap method of slow torture?

An even worse thought brought itself to my attention. Was Jules safe? Gus? My dad? What if whoever got to me got them, too? What if-?

Snap out of it, Shawn. I muttered to myself. You're not helping anyone by panicking.

I started feeling light headed, like I just had a dose of the la-la juice. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind, to no effect. In fact, that seemed to have made matters even worse.

See, the box was sound proof, which meant that it's probably sealed somehow. Sealed. As in, no air holes. As in, no air goes in, no air goes out. And no air=no breathing=a very dead me.

I quickly clapped a hand over my mouth to calm myself down. I had to think through this, fast.

I had probably been awake for 2 minutes tops. Add that to the time I had been unconscious, without air- which I assumed to be at least a few hours, judging by the empty feeling in my stomach- and I was lucky to be alive. And confused. How-?

I can figure that out later, I thought. It won't matter, anyway, if I get stuck in here

I held my breath as I kicked on the metal under my feet. The less air I used, the better.

The metal caved a few millimeters, not enough to actually make a difference. I tried pounding on the metal over my head. Still nothing. Everywhere I hit, I hardly made a dent. Just a dull rattle that stopped as soon as it started.

My head throbbed, though I'm not sure if it was from the headache or the impromptu faceplant into a steel wall. It also could've been lack of oxygen, now that I think about it.

Blood dripped off my fists onto my face as I kept pounding the metal. Pain shot up my leg as I kept kicking the metal wall, which felt kind of like kicking a brick wall, only with metal. And for some reason, my fingertips were covered in stale blood. The air was stained with the overwhelming smell of copper.

I had to ignore it. I could take account of my injuries later, but right now, survival is the only thing I care about. And that meant getting out.

This whole time, kicking and pounding on the metal, I held my breath. I finally had to gasp, already feeling my oxygen begin to run out. The clock was ticking.

I tried to get in a sitting position, but the box was too cramped. There was barely enough room for me to even look around. I instead settled for sitting half-up, propping myself on my elbows.

I desperately gave a flurry of weak kicks, feeling rather than hearing the ding of metal. Frustrated, I tried waving off the black that had started seeping into my vision. It wouldn't go away. I took a few deep breaths, taking in the last bits of oxygen from my new coffin. If I passed out now, I would die.

So, don't pass out, then.

I tried to remember how long someone could go without oxygen before there's permanent brain damage. I couldn't.

"Wha-?" I know, I know, it sounds stupid, but this actually freaked me out more than anything. I couldn't remember. Maybe I was already brain damaged. Maybe I already lost my eidetic memory. If that's possible.

"C'mon, you stupid brain! Work!" I muttered. Aand now I'm talking to myself. Great.

I couldn't remember. I just couldn't. Which was worse than anything.

I couldn't think about it. Wouldn't. If there was a chance, any chance at all that I could get out of this whole mess without becoming brain dead, I had to act on it. Before it was too late.

"Ungh!" I gave one final, solid kick, feeling my foot connect with metal. The metal gave way under the force, and my legs ached from the abuse. I thought I was home free.

But the blackness, the darkness was still there, dancing around the edges of my vision. I fought it at first, or at least tried to. But it was so peaceful, almost comforting. A few minutes couldn't hurt, right?

Olivia's POV~

"I dunno, I still think we should at least tell his folks."

"And tell them what, exactly? 'Sorry, you're son died, but don't worry, he's alive and well now. We're just gonna keep him in a lab for the next few weeks to experiment on him.' Peter, this is for the best. He's dangerous. To himself and others."

"Well, when you put it that way- Watch it, Walter! You almost took his head off!" Peter motioned to the tray of operating tools as Walter raised his side of the gurney up to avoid the oncoming collision.

"I doubt a scalpel could cut off someone's head, Peter." Walter seemed to ponder the idea, then nodded to himself.

"Astral, will you set up the cranial scanner for me, dear." Walter asked as they lowered the man on the table.

"Walter, that's the third time you've asked me that. And probably the 200th time you've forgotten my name."

"249th, to be exact. Or is it 250? I always lose count."

Despite having a guy who was supposed to be dead in our lab, everything felt peaceful. No stepping on eggshells around each other, no yelling, no fighting. Almost- normal. I chuckled to myself at the thought.

"Glad to know we're entertaining you, Olivia," Peter joked, "Can you get the IV bags?"

"Sure." As I brought them over, I finally got a good look at the man. The sheet from the hospital was still covering him. His feet and arms were uncovered, which was what caught my eye.

His hands had blood caked on them, under the nails and on the knuckles. And the balls of his feet were slightly bruised, like he had jumped on- or kicked- a hard surface without shoes.

"Walter, what is this?" They almost looked like defensive wounds. There was no response- I looked up to see Walter obsessing over something on the microscope, gnawing on the end of a licorice stick.

Peter came up next to me. "Oh, that. Walter has a 'working hypothesis'. He thinks the man never really died." He finished hooking the man up to the machines. Since he had been in the lab, he had started improving. His previous smurf color was now a pale tan.

"Is that even possible? The hospital's machines didn't pick up a pulse or heartbeat. I checked the recording- there was nothing." Walter started humming over the screen displaying the results of the brain scanner.

"Nothing detectable."

"This man never died." Walter abruptly stood, shaking his finger in the air. He started talking to himself under his breath for a few moments.

"Well, would you like to explain to the rest of the class, Walter?" I prompted.

"I suspect it's some form of suspended animation."

"Suspended animation? Isn't that what NASA was gonna use to send people to Mars?" Astrid asked.

"Exactly. But that took years to even imagine, even longer to determine optimal conditions. Not to mention, the technology that would be needed to actually make it happen," Peter explained.

"So how-?"

"There are a few natural cases. Some poor fellow in Canada- I can never remember the name- fell through a thin sheet of ice into a lake and was discovered 36 hours later, still in the water. He was thought to be dead. Apparently, his body temperatures had gotten so low that his body went into a natural form of self-preservation. Somehow this man went through an experience traumatic enough to duplicate the effects."

"But how? I mean, what could have possibly happened to him that his body just decided to shut down spontaneously?"

A few moments later, Astrid spoke up. "Maybe you should ask him that."


	3. A Game of Trust

**I'm not dead guys. I swear. Blame the teachers for making me write papers on Lord of the Flies (p.s. Simon dies in the end). Sorry not sorry :)**

 **I'm not trying to suck the reviews outta you, but I don't have a beta and I kinda need help. Is it sucky? Is it meh? Is it yeah? Suggestions?**

 **Twisted quote of the chapter: "I would rather be ashes than dust."**

 **Oh and btdubs I already have everything all planned out, and I've gotten past writing the hardest part (the intro) so chapters should be coming in pretty steady now. Yay now everyone's happy!**

 **Back to business. . .**

The sound of the heart monitors drowned out all other sound in the room with the noise of a ticking time bomb. The team watched as the figure on the cot started to stir, eyes fluttering open.

"Someone help me." She heard shuffling behind her.

"Blue bottle, top shelf."

The bottle was shoved in Astrid's hand. She fumbled for a syringe from the drawer, filling it with the barbiturates. She stuck it in the IV bag and watched as the drugs started to take effect. After a little flicker of the lights, the sound of the machines returned to their regular, rhythmic beeping.

The stress in the room was practically visible. It was hard to fantasize about success after so many failures.

Olivia took a deep, shaky breath, running a hand through her hair as she thought about how close they just came to disaster.

They had every reason to be worried- terrified, even. After all the other Gifted they'd tried to help, it was hard to expect this one to be any different. But he was- somehow. Walter was sure of it. And they all _needed_ to be sure of it. He was the last one.

David Robert Jones had triggered their abilities. Somehow, for some reason, he had triggered the abilities of 13 special individuals. To wreak havoc, to scare people, whatever his motives- they were working. They were backed into a corner, running out of options.

Walter decided he needed to do something. He figured it was his fault this was all happening in the first place. So he started trying to find the other kids from the Cortexiphan trials. The ones that weren't already dead or in jail. He wanted to bring them in before their abilities made a full appearance, to teach them what their powers were and how to use and control them. To keep them from becoming pawns of Jones' plan.

It didn't turn out that way. Most of the Cortexiphan kids they found were either so new that they ended up accidently killing themselves, or so experienced that they tried killing the team.

For seemingly no reason. Although, secretly, they all suspected that Jones had already gotten to them, already turned them.

So yes, they were terrified. The incident with the pyromaniac who tried melting the lab was still fresh in their minds. So was the one with the telepath who almost convinced everyone at the bank to give her their money. The little they had learned of these people was that they weren't harmless. They were a threat.

"We can't keep doing this. Knocking him out every time he wakes up." Astrid commented.

"I know. We just need more time to run some tests." Walter said.

"What tests do you need to run, Walter? We already know that he has abilities- he was dead, and now he's not. I would say that's reason enough to at least consider him as 'not normal'." Peter said.

He paused for a moment before continuing. "The only way we'll know anything for sure is when he wakes up. But we'll be prepared this time."

"So you're saying we just, what, wake him up? We have no idea what he can do! He could kill any one of us at a moment's notice." Olivia interjected.

"You're right. But we signed up to help people, and we can't _do_ that if we're too scared to even try. Besides, he was awake in the morgue, remember? And he hasn't randomly burst into flames yet. Things haven't started floating around the room. No wormholes have appeared. Maybe he actually has a lid on his powers. Or maybe Jones hasn't found him yet."

"So what was that 'episode' he supposedly had in front of the police station? It wasn't a seizure- that was the Cortexiphan."

"He worked as a consulting psychic detective for the police department. It's entirely possible he's somehow had these powers his whole life." Walter suggested.

"Let's just try this time. We'll wait until he wakes up, and if he's a complete psycho, we'll deal with it."

There was a silence as the room contemplated their options. As they wondered if they even had a choice.

"We can shoot him up with more drugs if things go sideways." Astrid offered.

"Fine. You're right, of course you're right. We have to at least give him a chance. But we'll need to wait for the drugs to wear off."

-An hour later, they were still at the lab, waiting for their mystery man to wake up. Peter was lying on the couch, lazily tossing a ball up into the air. Astrid and Walter were looking at the vital charts for any sign of him waking up. Olivia, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth, the tap of her shoes following her like a ghost.

"Guys-" Astrid warned. There was a rustle coming from the center of the room with the gurney.

Olivia stopped pacing and spun on her heel. Peter caught the ball he was tossing and stood.

All eyes were turned to the man on the gurney.

His raspy voice incredulously asked, "Did you _drug_ me?"


	4. Brave New World

**I don't know if I already mentioned this or not, but this takes place when Peter and Olivia are still semi-awkward with their relationship. And as you probably guessed, Shules is established.**

 **Sorry if the whole time frame doesn't make much sense, but this is around when the Fringe team is dealing with the Cortexiphan kids, and Shawn is just. . . being Shawn. . .Okay fine since I should probably put this in context let's just say this is some time after the events of Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark. m'kay?**

He was wary at first. Well, wary was a nice way of putting it. More like freaking out about how he just died and woke up in a top-secret lab.

She had just finished telling him about the Cortexiphan. Although he lived in Santa Barbara for practically his whole life, there was a short time during his parents' divorce when he stayed with his father in Jacksonville. His father, of course, left him at a daycare. The same fate-filled daycare that 14 others went to.

"I just- I _what_?" Shawn was having trouble understanding how this wasn't the plot to some bad sci-fi movie. Or a late-night-pizza-induced dream. He had so many questions. Did his father know about the daycare? Why didn't he really remember it at all? Was he an official superhero now? . . .did he want to be? Who was he kidding, of _course_ he wanted to be. _Awesome_!

He kept his eyes on Astrid as she unwrapped the blood pressure cuff from his arm. He fiddled with the too-long sleeves of the flannel shirt they gave him.

"Mr. Spencer-" Olivia started.

"Shawn", he corrected, "Mr. Spencer is my father." He quickly shook his head when he saw Astrid return with a needle. Olivia waved her off.

"Okay- Shawn. Do you remember anything about what happened? It'll help us explain this better if we know what you know." She was honestly wondering how he was taking this so well. She thought there was something he wasn't telling them.

"I had a really bad headache. Like, having-a-greasy-pork-sandwich-after-a-hangover headache." He shrugged.

"Telekinesis." Walter commented in a flat voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm still having trouble believing all of this." He let out a soft laugh. "I mean, what proof do you have? For all I know, you faked those FBI badges and this whole setup."

"Yes, you're exactly right. We are secretly running a human trafficking ring under Harvard University, and we bought all this nice and incredibly expensive equipment with our own money. I told you Olivia, he would see right through our setup. The man's a genius." Peter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Olivia continued, ignoring his comment. "Anything else? Do you remember anything you saw or felt during your-" she hesitated, "seizure?".

"Uh. . ." He looked down, suddenly confused. He did remember something, but he didn't know what it was, or what it meant. He frowned, forehead crinkling in thought. It just didn't make sense.

He looked up, still frowning. "I, uh, _saw_ something." He let out a short laugh, completely unamused. His frown deepened as he shook his head.

"Like what?" Peter asked, suddenly interested. "Dead people? Flying unicorns? 'Cause Walter's been looking for his for a while now."

Shawn couldn't help but crack a smile at the _Sixth Sense_ reference. This guy was actually okay. If they met under different circumstances, they might have been friends.

He was able to relax a bit. They were just trying to help him. "No. More like- memories. But they weren't mine. But I could still remember them. They just never happened to me." He was rambling a bit.

"Memories? That's new."

"New? Exactly how many people with superpowers do you know?"

They had only told him about his own powers and how he had gotten them. They had yet to reveal that there were others before him. They didn't want to acknowledge the fact, and wanted even less to see how he would react. But so far, he seemed sane.

"There were 13 others before you. Their abilities were triggered by a man named David Robert Jones. We don't know why- yet- but we're hoping we can work together to figure it out."

"Evil masterminds? I can relate. So what exactly happened at the police station? Did I have a seizure or was it all part of the Corfan?"

"Cortexiphan. And it wasn't actually a seizure," she clarified, "Walter-" Olivia asked for help in explaining.

"It was what I am now calling a 'cranial overload'. I was quite proud of that one."

Walter looked up at the blank stares around him. "Your brain was trying so hard to process all the information it was suddenly exposed to- the memories, as you put it- that it shorted itself out trying to understand it," he trailed off, muttering as he turned to the desk, "His exposure to the memories themselves means that his neurons and the neurons of those around him were successfully able to communicate via brainwaves- which means that the limbic system, in this case, was directly affected by the Cortexiphan. . ."

"Like having the worst brain fart of your life." Peter clarified.

"Heh," Walter chuckled, distracted, "Vulcan mind meld."

"And the morgue?" Shawn saw Olivia turn out of the corner of his eye, excusing herself to take a phone call.

"As far as we can tell, your memory snatching puts you in a state of suspended animation, which makes you appear to be dead. That's how you survived without oxygen for so long. And that's also why the hospital machines couldn't pick up a pulse or heartbeat. Your heart was barely beating enough to keep you alive."

"Oh, I feel so lucky." He said dryly.

Olivia returned, phone in hand. "Alright, here's the deal. I just got off the phone with Broyles and he wants us to keep you here under supervision. Until we find David Robert Jones, you're with us."

"Wait, _what_? You can't do that! I have a life back at Santa Barbara! Gus, Jules, they're gonna be wondering what happened to me." _Heck, even Lassie,_ he thought.

Olivia could tell he was getting flustered. She spread her hands in a placating gesture. The last thing she wanted was another crazy. For now, they had to do what he wanted to keep him happy, until they could find a way to control him, or at least dampen his powers.

"Would it help if we brought them here?" Olivia suggested.

"Wha- _seriously_? You would actually do that? You _could_ actually do that?" He was confused. They had caved surprisingly easily. Almost like they were scared of how he would react if they didn't. It made him feel guilty.

"You guys really don't need to do that. I mean, they have their own lives back home, too. I don't really want to drag them through all of this." He shrugged. They could see that he was disappointed.

"It'll be good to have some people that know you close by." _Just in case,_ she thought.

"I'll call Broyles." Astrid volunteered.

She came back a few minutes later.

"He thought it was a good idea. He had O'Hara temporarily transferred to the Boston PD. And your friend Gus is coming, too. They'll be here tomorrow afternoon. Oh, and Olivia, Broyles has a lead he wanted you to check out. He texted you the details."

Olivia looked down at her phone to see an address and name. "I have to go. In the meantime, you should get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow." Olivia said over her shoulder. "Peter," she called for him to go with her.

"Tomorrow? What's tomorrow?" Shawn asked.

Peter chuckled as he walked away. "Oh, you'll see."

 **Okay I'm reading back and those last few lines sounded REALLY creepy. . . oh well, too late now.**


	5. Testing

**So little evil me decided to make this chapter super-uber-duper short.**

He had just finished a good 6 hours of testing. Peter's creepy and ominous warning was not enough to prepare him for any of it.

It was worse than the SAT. He still didn't really understand half of the tests, but he was fairly sure most of them were psychological evaluations. Only a few actually tested his abilities.

At around 2, Shawn and co were sitting around eating a late lunch. He had tried using the force to get Peter to buy jerk chicken, but it didn't work, so they settled for Chinese take-out.

He heard a door swing open behind him, and turned around. He was plowed over with a bone-crushing hug, and an ear-piercing squeal surfaced in his ear.

"Jules!" He suddenly felt really self-conscious, though he didn't particularly know why.

"Shawn, oh my God, I was so scared. You were dead. Are you okay?" She held him out at arm's length. "You're okay." She rambled, finally releasing him from her death-trap bear hug.

"Sorry." He said sheepishly.

"Just. . . don't do it again, okay?"

"Not planning on it."

Gus walked in struggling with a bunch of luggage, which he stuffed in the corner. He tripped over a small suitcase, stood and straightened his shirt. He saw Shawn and a huge smile lit up his face.

"Oh my gosh. Hey, Shawn! Man, you really freaked me out." His smile faltered. "You don't look to good." Gus gave a big man-hug. The dark shadows under Shawn's eyes stood out against his unusually pale face.

Shawn gave a half-hearted smile. Truthfully, although he was exhausted, he hadn't been able to sleep at all. The constant strain of keeping his mind in line was taking its toll. It took most of his attention just to make sure he didn't slip up and die again.

Wow. That could've been phrased better.

He introduced them all to the team, which included probably more badge-flashing than it should have. Later, he had Gus fill him in on what was going on back home. Apparently, Lassie was in need of a new partner because Jules had been relocated, so Buzz got promoted. He also learned that his dad knew what was going on, too, as part of regular FBI protocol to notify closest family members.

2 weeks passed, and nothing really changed. Strangely, Shawn was already kind of used to the routine. He had adjusted to his new life. None of his abilities from that long-ago afternoon resurfaced: he started to think that it was all a delusion, that he wasn't a telepath that had accidentally read the minds of everyone around him. Yes, that was it. None of it was real. It was just his imagination.

It seemed like everything would turn out okay.


	6. Should've Stayed in the Van

**I need inspiration. Help.**

 **3 Weeks Later. . .**

"Now, how do I throw a grenade?" Walter asked.

"Upper left trigger." Shawn distractedly answered, half-listening and half-watching for the enemy to show his face under his sniper scope. He was pretty sure Walt was screen-peeking.

The timer finished, and the TV screen flashed with the score table for Team Deathmatch. Shawn had tried to go easy on Walter, but he practically grew up playing Call of Duty with Gus.

Walter sat back, gnawing contentedly on a Red Vine. "I see now why you love these video games so much, Shawn. They're quite fun."

"Rematch?" Shawn asked.

"Sure." Gus butted in, taking a seat next to Walter as he stole the xBox controller from him.

"Let me show you how it's done," Gus thumbed his nose.

"Ha! This should be fun." He started a new game.

Shawn turned to see Olivia enter with a file in hand. He could tell something was going on- the look on her face was urgent. It almost always was, but still.

"We have a lead. It could be related to Jones, so Broyles wants us to check it out. But we need all hands on deck, which means you two-," she pointed to Shawn and Gus, "-are coming with us."

Shawn whipped back around as he heard an explosion from on screen, just in time to see his character die. He flipped off the TV.

"When do we go, boss?"

Olivia narrowed her eyes, trying to see if she liked her new nickname. It was better than Olive, she guessed.

"Right now. I'll be in the car." Olivia left, leaving Shawn and Gus looking slightly confused as they followed.

* * *

They took a big black van so they could fit all the equipment. It looked like something straight from a spy movie. Which was _awesome._

Walt made something to measure how weak the barrier between universes was. It could detect how much spacetime was warped. The more changed it was, the more likely the chance of a portal.

Walt brought it along so he could make sure that this was a portal they were dealing with, and not some random disappearing building. Shawn called it the Alternameter (Get it? Alternate Universe + meter = Alternameter).

Before, Shawn would have thought that sounded ridiculous. He still did. At least his life still retained that small bit of normalcy.

"So, what's the case?" Shawn felt himself slipping back into old habits, which included being as nosy and obnoxious as possible.

But somehow he felt he wouldn't be able to solve this with his old methods.

Peter answered as Olivia turned a corner, "There used to be buildings here," he said, pointing to an empty lot down the road, "We don't really know yet, but we think someone may have opened a portal to the Other Side, which would mean that buildings were moved over there."

"Either way, we have another portal jumper." Olivia spoke the two words with as much meaning as someone might say Taco Tuesday- like the words "portal jumper" spoke for themselves.

Shawn remembered something Walter mentioned during testing- that even if he (Shawn) were able to open a portal, it would take so much energy that it wouldn't be permanent, and he would only be able to move himself (still talking about Shawn). "How is that possible? It couldn't have been a Cortexiphan kid, right?"

"No, but there are some- _tools_ \- that jumpers can use to jump universes. Although I don't think we've seen anything this powerful yet." Olivia explained.

"We're here," Olivia spoke up. She pulled into a parking lot, seemingly deserted. There was one building standing (standing being an over-exaggeration in this case), and it sported a Closed sign which hung from the shattered glass door. Y'know. Cliche abandoned building.

There was a police car parked near a dead tree. The men inside were talking urgently on the radio.

The whole scene was strange: it looked like an abandoned ghost town in the heart of Massachusetts.

"What's the plan?" Juliet asked, unbuckling her seat belt.

She was skeptical of the Fringe team from the beginning, and was more than happy to give them a chance to prove themselves. Now that they were here, she was getting anxious.

"They're giving us a few of the witness reports. And other information that might be important to the case-"

"Aliens." Shawn stated. Olivia turned to see that Shawn spiked his hair up and was now doing his best Giorgio Tsoukalos imitation.

Gus tsked. "What are we supposed to do?" He asked, ready to hear his role.

"You are going to stay with Shawn in the van." Astrid spoke from the back of the van. She and Walter were setting up the Alternameter

"What? Why do I get stuck on babysitting duty?"

"Why do I get stuck being babysat?" Shawn asked at the same time.

"You need to earn your stripes," Peter said simply.

"Just stay in the van." Olivia ordered.

"Sure," Shawn sat back, arms folded. He shared a look with Gus, and Olivia couldn't help but notice the mischievous smirk playing at the corner of his lips. She figured Gus would keep him in line, if nothing else, and thought nothing more of it.

"Okay. Peter, Juliet, you two are with me. Astrid and Walter, do a quick sweep of the area for inter-universal disturbances." Olivia ordered. Jules gave a half-apologetic shrug to the two, then turned to follow.

Shawn glimpsed Olivia giving Peter a gun. Judging from the way he flipped the safety on before carelessly putting it in the holster at his belt, Shawn could tell that he probably didn't think he would have to use it.

Gus fiddled with the radio, trying to find a good station.

Then he noticed Shawn struggling to take off his seatbelt.

"What- ? Shawn! She told us to stay in the van!" Gus hissed. He did _not_ want to make that lady mad.

Shawn finally got the stupid buckle off. "Gus, we're not staying in the van. Did you see that thing she was doing with her eyes? She _totally_ needs my help."

"Thing with her eyes?- ", Gus muttered, 'Shawn, she was _glaring_ at you. I'm pretty sure that wasn't an invitation."

"Take a leap of faith, Gus. The only way they'll trust us is if we make ourselves useful." Shawn reasoned.

 _Or actually doing what they tell us to_ , Gus thought. Nonetheless, he found himself sucked back into his friends' old antics when he reluctantly followed.

Besides feeling like he was walking through a graveyard, Gus was utterly creeped out. For no discernible reason, this place made his skin crawl- although that could have just been the faint smell of ozone in the air. Still, there was that one building left in the lot, with it's peeling blue paint and gaping windows . . .

He saw a glint of something metallic in the building through one of the windows. Gus threw a hand out. Shawn immediately stopped, and, seeing the look on Gus' face, looked to see what he was freaking out over.

"I have a weird feeling about this, Shawn," He said, eyeing at the building.

"Oh c'mon, Gus. Lighten up. This is our first case in weeks. I'm going crazy-."

Shawn stopped.

Something _was_ off. And it wasn't the Mexican food.

"Gus-" Shawn started smacking Gus' arm to get his attention, "Gus, those aren't standard police issue." He pointed, wide-eyed, at the policemen's guns, and snapped his arm back down a split second later to avoid getting their attention.

But it didn't matter. Olivia was already onto them. Shawn watched in surprise as Olivia pulled out her gun on the policemen. His confusion grew as he saw the policemen draw their weapons.

"Uhm." Shawn stuttered intelligently.

"Do you think they still need our help?" Gus wondered.

 **I hope they're all in character. Comments? Suggestions?**


	7. Fight Club

**WARNING: VERY (VERY) OOC SHAWN!**

 **Not to sound like a broken record, but please review. Reviews make me happy and want to write, which will in turn make you happy (hopefully).**

 **Summary: Shawn and Gus are brought along with the Fringe team on an investigation into recent portal jumping in the hopes of it leading them to Jones. Things go a little sideways, though, and shots will be fired. . .**

 **(I really suck at summaries, so just read)**

 _Previously. . ._

" _Gus-" Shawn started flopping his arm to get Gus' attention, "Gus those aren't standard police issue." He pointed at the policemen's guns._

 _Shawn watched in surprise as Olivia pulled out her gun on the policemen. His confusion grew as he saw the policemen draw their weapons._

" _Uhm." Shawn stuttered intelligently._

" _Do you think they still need our help?" Gus wondered._

 **. . . .**

This was really all too soon.

As Olivia drew her gun, a dozen fully-armed gunmen filed out of the empty building- which, everyone could see now, wasn't really empty at all.

Shawn and Gus were luckily close enough to the van to be able to hide under it.

They jostled each other to get a good view, but stopped abruptly when they saw a heavy black boot slam down into the dust. He looked up to see the stern face it belonged to, and his stomach flipped as he noticed the man look down. He was sure they'd been spotted, but the man just spat on the ground.

There were 12 in all, if he counted right. It was a little hard to tell with everyone running around.

The "policemen" were trigger-happy, too. They fired the first warning shots into the air, then went to join their teammates next to the van. They were positioned in a semicircle, forming a barrier between the Shawn, Gus and the others. But of course they didn't know that.

They should've just stayed in the van. The key was still in the ignition. They could have so easily gotten everyone out safely. Except, maybe, the baddies.

But no. Now Shawn and Gus were stuck a foot away from a team of trigger-happy soldiers who didn't even know they were there.

And he was _lucky_. The others were surrounded in a half-circle, even Astrid and Walter. Olivia and Peter, the only ones actually armed, were completely overwhelmed. Their sights jumped from person to person, frantically searching for some gap or oversight in the human blockade.

One of the men took out his radio, gun still trained on Olivia. There was a crackle of radio static.

"Jones, the asset is surrounded." _Asset_? Olivia whipped around to face him. If looks could kill. . . that man would have been a smouldering pile of carbon atoms.

And Shawn went into default mode, as he always did when one of his friends was being threatened or about to get hurt. He looked for clues. He looked for something to help him fix this, something that no one else would have noticed.

And he did. He noticed the bags of extra ammunition each man was equipped with. He noticed the gloved fingers that were pressing a little too hard on the triggers. He noticed the scopes looking for the best place to shoot for the highest chance of fatality. He noticed the lack of hesitation as the gunmen stared down their targets.

And all these clues pointed to one big, neon blinking sign- _Run_. These guys wouldn't hesitate to shoot. They came _prepared_ to shoot. Which was different than the empty threats that he always faced when someone pointed a gun in his face.

 _Run._ But he couldn't. That would've been just messed up.

If Shawn had paid more attention, he would've noticed one small, crucial detail. One of the men gestured towards Olivia, and three men shifted their attention from the others to her. The "asset", Shawn would have figured out (if the adrenaline hadn't clouded his mind), was Olivia. She was the only one they were really concerned about.

Another thing he would have noticed was that the men guarding Olivia were the only ones who didn't look ready to kill. He would've noticed the slightly looser fingers on the triggers, he would've noticed the keen attentiveness taken towards her, he would've noticed the slight fear in their eyes as they regarded her. Similar to the way Shawn regarded raccoons.

But he didn't notice any of this. The only thing he noticed that he took to his advantage was the fact that the men's backs were to him.

Which was quite convenient, really.

He lunged out from under the van, too quick for Gus to pull him back, but just slow enough for him to fully understand the sheer stupidity of what his friend just did. And just slow enough for every possibility to run through Shawn's mind. Just slow enough, in fact, for him to clearly be able to see the various looks of shock as he football-tackled one of the gunmen, who fell like a domino into the man next to him.

He didn't have time to comprehend the whats and hows.

He just made himself a target.

Target practice had never been a hobby of his.

You can see the dilemma here.

Nonetheless, he forced himself to wrench the AK out of Domino 2's hands, who, Shawn would learn later, simply didn't have the energy to fight back.

Gus was out from under the van. He grabbed a handful of sand from the ground and chucked it someone's eyes, effectively reducing to tears.

Just where was this coming from? The epic fight moves, the sudden violence that was never needed in their countless encounters with crazed killers- all of a sudden it seemed like Shawn had been prepared for this. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Which he didn't.

These thoughts never occurred to Shawn, but they ran themselves through everyone else's minds several times.

Surprisingly, there minds went blank when they saw Shawn pistol-whip some poor, unsuspecting goon. . . with an AK-47.

11.

Peter and Olivia decided to make use of their weaponry and turned on their captors.

10.

9.

They each took down one before being overpowered. Two men went on each and viciously wrenched their arms behind their backs.

If Shawn had paid attention, he would've noticed that neither Peter nor Olivia fought back much. If he had noticed it, he wouldn't have known what to make of it. Not yet, anyway.

His freak adrenaline rush wasn't over yet. But _they_ didn't know that.

He held his shoulder, feigning an injury- which wasn't too hard. One of the Domino Bros must've managed to tag him.

Olivia and Peter were forced on the ground, guns held to their heads. Astrid and Walter were in a similar situation. Gus stood a bit behind Shawn, hands up.

Shawn did the same, motioning for Gus to stay put. Gus looked at him quizzically.

"Shawn? What are you doing?" Shawn was walking towards one of the gunmen. He had more armor than the others and a small dagger was positioned at his belt loop. Shawn assumed him to be the leader.

Then kicked him in the knee.

 **Eh? Eh? How 'bout that?**

 **I'll be the first to admit, I got a little lazy at parts, what with the not really getting into detail, but whatevs.**

 **Review!**


	8. Lean on Me

**Good news guys! I didn't die!**

 **So now that school's almost over, I should (should) be updating more regularly. I already have the whole outline for this crossover, so writer's block shouldn't be that bad (hopefully).**

 **Reviews appreciated. Seriously.**

 **Previously . . .**

 _Olivia and Peter were forced on the ground, guns held to their heads. Astrid and Walter were in a similar situation. Gus stood a bit behind Shawn, hands up._

 _Shawn did the same, motioning for Gus to stay put. Gus looked at him quizzically._

 _"Shawn? What are you doing?" Shawn was walking towards one of the gunmen. He had more armor than the others and a small dagger was positioned at his belt loop. Shawn assumed him to be the leader._

 _Then kicked him in the knee._

Everything was a flurry after that. Like, a _literal_ flurry. Shawn's head was whipping around so fast he had difficulty focusing on anything. Sirens filled the air. Shawn would later learn that Astrid had called for backup.

Shawn vaguely noticed that he had taken down only 3 men, yet there were 5 down. He didn't think much of it. He was a bit distracted. His earlier tactic (if you could call it that) with the knee-kicking landed him a spot smack in the middle of the ring.

Why was no one helping him? Everyone seemed to have abandoned him.

Shawn soon saw why.

Most of the team was down. Which was strange, considering they weren't even involved in any of the fighting. Olivia was sagging against her captors sleepily, who were trying to keep her standing. They looked like they weren't much better off. In fact, it looked like everyone was leaning on each other. There was a Bill Withers joke in here somewhere. . .

One of the guys tried -pathetically- to fight back. He brought his gun up, pointing it at Shawn's thigh- he seemed to be having difficulty raising it to his face. His eyes were half-closed.

Shawn, with his pointer finger, cautiously moved the gun to point at the ground. He faced no resistance. In fact, seconds later, the guy collapsed in front of him snoring.

". . .That was easy." He muttered.

The source of the sirens soon made itself known. Several cars came screeching to a stop, spraying pebbles and sand everywhere. Two ambulances soon made an appearance. Before the cars even stopped people were jumping out of them, shouting. A few of them Shawn recognized from the station.

"Get on the ground! Down, now!"

"Drop the weapons."

 **. . .**

"What do you mean, _escaped_?" The calm demeanor did nothing to make the woman any more at ease. If anything it scared her even more.

She always pulled the short stick.

"Sir, the team was incapacitated."

"The team? Are you referring to the team of highly trained bounty hunters with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment that I tasked with collecting 2 people? That team?" He spoke with a deadly calm.

"Y-yes-"

"Explain to me, if you would be so kind, _how_?"

She shuffled her feet, awkwardly looking for words. "We were misinformed."

Jones gave her an expectant look, waiting to hear more.

"Sir, we were under the impression that there was only one surviving member of the Cortexiphan trials."

"-and?"

"There are two of them, sir. Their powers are fully developed."

She assessed the blank face in front of her, and quickly tried to smooth the situation.

"But he doesn't seem to have full control yet. We're keeping tabs on both of them-"

"This is fantastic!" He muttered, "The possibilities..."

"Sir?"

"Keep them under surveillance. Notify me if any significant changes arise."

"Will do, sir."

 **Sorry guys, I know this one was kind of short, but I had to get it out there before I found something else wrong with it and spent another month fixing it.**


	9. Evidence

**Wow. . . to be honest I kinda forgot about this story. . . oops. Sorry. I got a little bit distracted.**

 _ **RECAP (You guys probably totally forgot what was going on)**_ **:**

" _Sir, we were under the impression that there was only one surviving member of the Cortexiphan trials."_

" _. . .and?"_

" _There are two of them, sir. Their powers are fully developed."_

 _She assessed the blank face in front of her, and quickly tried to smooth the situation._

" _But he doesn't seem to have full control yet. We're keeping tabs on both of them-"_

" _This is fantastic!" He muttered, "The possibilities..."_

" _Sir?"_

" _Keep them under surveillance. Notify me if any significant changes arise."_

" _Will do, sir."_

 **. . .**

After the fact, there were a lot of things that I- and everyone, for that matter- should've noticed. One being the plates on the "police" car had vehicle tags, the second being that I should never be trusted to stay in the van, and the third being that Gus should never be expected to be able to keep me in said van.

The fourth being that I had the inherent ability to both piss people off and control energy.

That last one was new.

I've never been a very realistic person, per se, but even _I_ had trouble believing something that ridiculous. All the proof I needed was staring me in the face.

And I know we've drawn conclusions on less in our cases.

People who were, presumably, trying to kill other people don't just decide to take a nap in the middle of trying to shoot said people in the face. That just doesn't happen.

Of course, that's not the only evidence. There's also the fact that half of lower Massachusetts experienced a freak blackout at the exact moment of the let's-say-altercation.

I felt really bad about it though- still do. Even though I probably prevented everyone from getting kidnapped or something, I still hadn't been able to apologize enough. Because apparently, my energy manipulation doesn't only include electronics, but people as well. _People_. So, when _I_ was having my freak adrenaline rush and everyone _else_ was falling asleep. . . I think you get the gist.

Astrid and Peter kept saying it wasn't really my fault, that I had no control over it. Walter, of course, was no help, and kept asking me what it was like. And Olivia- well, she's a bit hard to read, but she seemed sympathetic more than anything.

So that's why, a coffee trip later, we're back at the lab. I'm pretty sure Jules is convinced of the team's good intentions (for now), although she does seem a little bothered by the fact that I'm currently a walking freak show. Gus is playing it off, acting like it doesn't bother him at all, but I can tell he's pretty shaken up.

And me? I'm just waiting for this all to be over, for my life to go back to normal. But I get the nagging feeling that it'll be a while until I see Santa Barbara again.


	10. Let's Shed Some Light On The Situation

**Sorry guys, last chapter was uber-short. Hopefully this one makes up for it ;) And I don't wanna be** _ **that**_ **person, but please review/follow/favorite if you like.**

 _ **RECAP:**_

 _I'm just waiting for this all to be over, for my life to go back to normal. But I get the nagging feeling that it'll be a while until I see Santa Barbara again._

"Shawn, I want you to try to turn on this lightbulb." Walter set the bulb in front of him on the table. He pulled up a folding chair and took a seat, waiting in anticipation.

"What? No, I can't do that," Shawn spoke dubiously.

"Yes, you _can,_ Shawn," Walter spoke with a certain excited gleam in his eyes, "You've done it before on a much larger scale."

"That was an _accident_. And I was _taking_ energy, not _giving_ it." Shawn was aware of the undivided attention he had gained from the room- while they all pretended to be carrying out their normal activities, they were pausing to watch much to often to actually be accomplishing anything.

"Accident or not, Shawn, we need to test the full extent of your gifts," Peter explained, "It'll help us figure out how long you've had these abilities, which may _also_ help us figure out when Jones triggered them."

"Okay." Shawn said in a it's-your-fault-if-this-doesn't-work voice. He stared down the lightbulb, waiting with bated breath to see any change.

After a few seconds, Shawn broke the awkward silence.

"What's it supposed to d-?" He was cut off in surprise mid-word as the lightbulb began to buzz, as if an electric current running to it had been flipped on. It grew a hazy glow, which seemed to grow until Shawn had to close his eyes to avoid getting them seared. He heard a loud pop, and slowly opened them to see the lightbulb laying on its spot at the table, nothing more than a broken pile of glass and a red-hot tangle of wire.

Now, the Fringe team has obviously seen some stuff in their line of work, but even they seemed a bit impressed by this latest stunt.

"Did I- Did I do that?" Shawn asked, confused. Rather than the adrenaline rush he had felt the first time he used his powers, he felt oddly tired. Strange, given the fact that he just confirmed for about the 5th time that week that he had superpowers.

"It appears you _did_."

Olivia, who had also been watching with scrutiny, suddenly jumped from her seat, heading straight for the door. Peter and Astrid exchanged a look, and he went out after her.

"Olivia, what's wrong?"

"We have a new mission," She said, holding up the phone to show Peter that Broyles had just messaged her.

"They want us to find Jones and bring him in," She laughed humourlessly, leaning her head back against the wall.

"I don't want him to turn out like the others," she said quietly, closing her eyes.

Peter didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue, "He has a life, a family, friends. Most of the other Cortexiphan kids didn't have _any_ of that. I just don't want to mess this up- get him killed, or-" she finally opened her eyes, shaking her head.

"Did you see what he just did? That guy can handle himself," Peter tried to reassure her, but even he was worried about the implications of a standoff against Jones.

"I hope you're right. And I also hope that he never gets that close to any of the action," Olivia left, leaving Peter in the hallway to mull over every possible thing that could go wrong.

He found too many.

. . .

They were all fully briefed on the mission to find Jones. They just hoped that somehow, they could find him before he found them.

But what's to say that he hadn't already?

 **Please review! It means alot**


	11. Taken

**You know what's really annoying? When authors use certain cliches, and you're always like "Eww, I'm never gonna write a scene like that, I'm gonna make it original, add a twist to it". Then, when you get to said scene, you end up pretty much rewriting the same cliche scene. It's really frustrating.**

 **Sorry, had to vent. Anyway, enjoy!**

 _ **RECAP:**_

" _I hope you're right. And I also hope that he never gets that close to any of the action," Olivia left, leaving Peter in the hallway to mull over every possible thing that could go wrong._

 _He found too many._

 _. . ._

 _They were all fully briefed on the mission to find Jones. They just hoped that somehow, they could find him before he found them._

 _But what's to say that he hadn't already?_

"I need to get some air," Shawn excused himself from the overly tense atmosphere. Olivia debated telling him to stay, seeing as how they should all be on high alert now with the new threat. Shawn assured her that he would just be outside, and she reluctantly let him go, seeing the visible stress and tension in his face.

He was worried that seeing all of the case files and reports might trigger another memory episode. He had already developed a worrisome headache, and he didn't want to wait around and let it develop into something worse.

Gus stood to go with him, but Shawn shook his head. He needed to be alone.

He acted fine about everything that was going on, but in reality he just didn't have the time to stop and _think_ about it. And if he was honest, he would have been fine with that- not reasoning through any of it. It scared him to think about it. It scared him to think that he had _always_ been like this, that somehow his ability to see people's memories had helped him in all of his cases.

That was something else he didn't want to think about. Ever since that episode at the station, he had been wondering why it had all felt so. . . _familiar_. Now, of course, he understood why- all of those years, all of those cases, they hadn't been his hyper-tuned observational skills. At least, not most of them. He had always wondered why he had these gut _feelings_ about the cases, how he could figure out the killer or the thief just through a hunch. But now he knew they weren't feelings or hunches or anything like that- they were him, reading people's memories, seeing their last moments, their killers, their betrayers.

He had been seeing their _last moments_. And somehow, he didn't know how, but _somehow_ his brain had interpreted the memories differently, giving them perfectly plausible explanations for why he saw them. _You were just imagining the scene_ or _That's what all the evidence points to._ In reality, it had never been him; it had been his gift.

He absently kicked a pebble into the road and followed its path with his eyes, watching as it rolled to a stop by a car tire.

He looked up to see the rest of the car, a black and inconspicuous suburban. He vaguely noticed that the car was unmarked before he stumbled back, scrambling to move as it suddenly pulled over inches away from his face. He dropped his phone on the concrete- as he reached to grab it he heard the back of the van open, and felt hands wrench at his shoulders, dragging him back to the car.

He squirmed and bucked, struggling against the iron grip until a hand clamped a damp rag over his mouth and nose. He tried not to inhale, managing to hold his breath for a bit before he finally had to breathe. When he did, his senses were bombarded with a sickly sweet smell, and the edges of his vision became blurred. The last thing he felt was being thrown into the back of the car.

"Shawn's missing!" Gus burst through the door, breathless.

Peter jumped from where he was sitting, "What? How-?"

"He left 3 hours ago so I went to check his apartment. I called his phone and I-", Gus paused, not knowing what else to say. He held up Shawn's phone, the only explanation he needed.

It was cracked. The screen was completely shattered.

"I found it on the street outside," Juliet jumped to get the phone.

"Are you sure it's-" She turned it over in her hand. The phone case was bright green, with the _Psych_ logo stylized on the back. _Definitely_ Shawn's.

Jules took the phone, studying it, gripping it until her knuckles turned white.

Olivia had been quiet the whole time, seemingly staring off into space as she thought. She knew something like this would happen- knew that _something_ would go wrong, something that she couldn't fix. . .

"Olivia? You alright?" Peter asked, offering her a cup of coffee. The day was turning over to night, and everyone else had already left. Peter practically had to shove Juliet out, and only after she took a stack of case files and reports to review at her apartment.

That still left plenty for them to work on.

"Fine." She replied emptily, automatically replying to the pleasantries.

She reached for another file from the stack in front of her- one she had already studied and scrutinized.

This time, however, she found something different, something that she hadn't noticed before.

"Gus, I found him!" Juliet shouted over the phone, ecstatically trying to reorganize the papers strewn across the floor. She shuffled them into a makeshift pile, with the case file she had just been studying on top.

Gus had (Juliet guessed) just woken up. It was 2:24 in the morning; Jules hadn't been able to sleep, not with the looming threat of Shawn's endangerment hanging thick in the air.

So she did the only thing she could think of. What she always did.

She looked for a way to fix it.

On the other line, Gus was confused with the sudden wake-up call.

"Gus, I found him. I know where Jones is keeping Shawn! It's an old research town not far from here."

"Where?" All traces of sleep had fled from Gus' voice, and he was now wide awake.

"Cloverbrooke." Juliet responded. She studied the picture of Jones standing in front of the road sign declaring the small town's name.

It was an abandoned research area where a community of scientists had once lived: Jones, of course, was one of the contributors.

There was no definite explanation as to why it was abandoned, just a few articles mentioning some kind of accident. It was a secluded area, far from any other civilization.

A perfect place to keep someone hidden.

 **Sorry guys, I'm really trying to update more often. . . not that anyone's actually reading this, but. . . yeah. . .**


	12. Procedure

**Hi. Disclaimer I don´t own either show :/**

 _ **RECAP**_ _:_

" _Gus, I found him! I know where Jones is keeping Shawn! It's an old research town not far from here."_

" _Where?" All traces of sleep had fled from Gus' voice, and he was now wide awake._

" _Cloverbrooke." Juliet responded._

Juliet Lynn O'Hara had always been one to follow police procedure. So when she showed up at Gus' door 10 minutes after the phone call, he figured they were going to tell the Fringe team together.

That wasn't exactly what Juliet had in mind.

"Gus, it is the _middle_ _of the_ _night_ ," she tried to reason with him, "By the time we wake up the rest of the team and they get prepared, it'll be too late. They won't be expecting us right now, but we have to find Shawn before they have time to move him."

"Why are you suddenly acting so reckless?" Gus asked.

There was a silence as Juliet strove for the answer.

"Because-", she started, speaking quietly, "Because last time Shawn was kidnapped, I wasn't able to do enough."

"Jules, you can't honestly blame yourself for-"

"I don't. I just- we need to find him, as soon as possible. And this is our best chance."

Gus pondered, considering their options. It _did_ make sense, going out now while they still had the element of surprise.

"Fine", he agreed, "But we need to at least call Olivia, leave a message of where we're going."

"You should know-", Shawn spoke around the growing pit in his stomach, "That my girlfriend has a very particular set of skills, skills she has acquired over a relatively short career. Skills that make her a nightmare for people like you."

"Quoting cinematography now, are we?" Jones smirked.

"That makes no sense," Shawn deadpanned. His quips were falling a bit short, seeing as how most of his attention was occupied on wriggling out of the handcuffs.

Jones must have somehow seen his vain attempts, as he crossed the room to tighten them. He used a key, making sure that Shawn could clearly see them before briefly unlocking the handcuffs to adjust the size. Seeing them as sufficiently painful for the kidnapee, he promptly left the room, letting the mechanized door lock shut behind him.

Shawn took a moment to study his surroundings- he was tied to a metal chair in some sort of lab, which looked like it had been unused for the better part of a decade. Spiderwebs were forming in the corners, and while the place still held a sterile whiteness, everything was covered in a thin layer of dust.

Shawn turned his attention back to the handcuffs around his wrists. As much as he twisted, there was no way he could get out of them- actually, he could hardly move his hands a few millimeters before he felt a sharp tug on his wrists where the cold metal had already chafed his skin.

Of all the "useful" survival tips his dad had taught him, he never showed him how to escape handcuffs. For a reason.

That's not to say, however, that Shawn didn't know _how_.

He remembered, vaguely, something about a thumb bone needing to be broken or dislocated. But he didn't want to try that until he was _really_ desperate.

 _. . .Now might count as "desperate"_ , Shawn thought.

He couldn't see his hands, as they were behind his back, but he was able to wiggle the cuffs just enough so one of his thumbs was pressing uncomfortably against the metal.

He jerked his hand, trying to dislocate his thumb in one swift go. But he couldn't. He was so close to the breaking point, but his reflexes and brain told him to stop moving, to stop breaking his thumb, and he couldn't do it. Couldn't bring himself to do it.

He tried using his other hand, twisting awkwardly to get a good grip. He finally held his thumb, and pushed down with all he could. This time he didn't stop, and was rewarded (?) with a sickening snap as the cuffs suddenly went slack in one hand. He winced, biting his lip as it slid past his thumb and off his hand. He tried not to make a noise to alert anyone outside the door.

He quietly got up, creeping to the door. Holding his hand, he peeked through the tiny window in the door to see-

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No guard, no camera. Just an empty white hallway leading to a pair of glass doors.

Which led outside.

Shawn couldn't help the shiver run up his spine- this was too easy. Something was wrong. Sure, he broke his thumb to get out, but still. Too easy.

Maybe he shouldn't say that yet. He still needed to get out of the building itself; the door had a lock that required a key card, which Shawn obviously didn't have. It opened from the outside, he saw, as there was no key card slot on the other end.

He heard footsteps rapidly approaching, padding through the echoing hall. He ran back for the metal chair, fumbling with the handcuffs to make it seem like they were still on, when the door opened.

"Jules?"

 **Bye.**


End file.
